


this makes me durable

by ElasticElla



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: Renfri asks a different new face in town for help with her Stregobor problem.
Relationships: Renfri | Shrike/Fringilla Vigo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2019





	this makes me durable

**Author's Note:**

> witcher rarepair three of three, woot woot, i daresay i vaguely know bits of the timeline now  
> title from jack off jill's horrible
> 
> (say hi on [tumblr](https://elasticella.tumblr.com/))

Nilfgaard. Fucking _Nilfgaard_. 

All because she couldn’t remember some backwater dance step, and fucking Yennefer, teacher’s pet extraordinaire, stole her position. Every story she’s heard of the place is horrible, the kindest words in jest, and her uncle promised to find a way to get her placed somewhere else. 

Fucking Tissaia. The old hag never liked her. 

So maybe Fringilla takes the very long, winding, scenic route to Nilfgaard. (They’re lucky to be getting a mage at all, can be patient.)

Fringilla doesn’t want to stop in Blaviken. Her uncle’s worked with Stregobor enough that she’ll have to stop by and say hello, and she rather hates inane social matters. But she’s so sick of salted meats for every meal, is having a piece of fruit with her breakfast today dammit. (Stregobor probably has a ridiculous breakfast table set up, but she wants her visit short.)

She wants to directly portal to Nilfgaard even less though, so Fringilla makes her way into the town’s tavern, easily spotted as the only building with activity. There’s a few curious glances at her arrival, but nothing more as she takes a corner table. 

Her breakfast comes- bread and butter, alas there’s no fruit to be had- and a woman slips into the seat across from her. 

“I’m not looking for company,” Fringilla says, tearing her roll apart. 

The woman barks out a laugh, “I’m seeking your services.” 

Fringilla raises an eyebrow, and the woman adds on, “There’s a man who wishes me dead.” 

It’s a sobering statement, and even if there’s nothing more she can do, she’ll hear her out. Fringilla nods, polishing off her meal. 

“He believes in some prophesy about when I was born, has been sending killers after me all my life.” 

It sounds familiar, but Fringilla can’t quite place it. “You seem to have managed so far, why do you need me?” 

She throws back her shoulders, “I don’t want to live in fear. I want my own life. I was a princess once, Stregobor took that from me.” 

The name hits like a punch to the gut, and of course, _of course_ it’s Stregobor. The half-mad mage that went around killing babies at eclipses. 

“You know him,” she rightfully accuses.

“I do. And I know he could kill ten of me without blinking.” Fringilla wipes her mouth, standing up. “And a little advice princess, I wouldn’t plot against him where he has spies.” 

She doesn’t look surprised or chastised, saying, “It’s Renfri by the way.” 

“Hm?” 

“My name, Fringilla.”

She leaves, refuses to be whatever Renfri intended with that little trick. (It doesn’t work; Renfri’s parting words echoing in her head.)

Fringilla goes to the nearby forest to meditate. Mid-morning is best for sorting out one’s emotions and it has nothing to do with meeting one of Stregobor’s escaped eclipse children. 

She remembers hearing stories as a child, grateful of her uneventful birth at noon. Of little girls who did nothing more than be born at the wrong time, little girls that should have been destined for greatness. She asked her uncle once how he could abide by such a monster in the Brotherhood, and he had sighed, looking older than ever. 

‘One day you’ll understand. I wouldn’t wish it upon you sooner.’ 

The day still came too soon, of Fringilla understanding how little a girl’s life meant to them compared to a fully trained mage. Hatred of Stregobor isn’t anything new. But the idea of actually _doing_ something… 

Her skin shivers with dread and delight. 

“You tipped your hand,” Fringilla says as she senses another presence in the clearing. 

Renfri appears from behind a tree, “It would have been far stranger if I hadn’t tried to enlist you to kill him.” 

Fringilla snorts, supposes she is right. 

“It would be an outrage,” Fringilla finally says. “I can’t kill him.” 

Renfri sighs, must have heard her response before. Fringilla wonders who else has been passing through Blaviken, refusing to rescue the once princess. Who else is complicit in Stregobor’s crusade? (All of them, all of the mages who knew.)

“So you must be the one to kill him,” Fringilla finishes. 

Renfri’s eyes seem to glow, “You will aid me?” 

“I will.” 

Promises are easy, even promises meant. A viable plan is harder to construct. Fringilla could visit Stregobor, but can’t bring Renfri inside- she’ll be killed. Killing a mage in his own house would be near suicide, he’s the sort to have forbidden death spells embedded within the walls should he fall. The trick will be getting him out of hiding without him being aware of any duplicity. 

“This is a foolish plan.” 

Renfri winks at her, “That’s why it’s brilliant.” 

“If he suspects-” 

“He won’t.” 

Fringilla sighs, finishing the glamour. “He might kill you on sight.” 

Renfri shakes her head, “I know how this monster thinks, he will come close.” 

Fringilla looks over Renfri’s hands one last time, making sure there are no visible seams. “Alright.” 

A leather hood is placed over Renfri’s head, and Fringilla grasps the chain attached to her bracelets glamoured to look like cuffs. In her other hand she carries the broach, and they walk to the edge of town. There is a child waiting, and Fringilla can’t help worrying the ruse has already been discovered. 

But there is no recognition in the child’s eyes, and how decent a liar can a ten year old truly be? 

Fringilla hands her the broach, “Take this to Stregobor. Tell him Fringilla is here.” 

The girl blinks slow, and Fringilla adds on, “I haven’t yet accepted my new position, he’ll understand why I can’t go to him.” 

She runs off, and Fringilla idly wonders if her excuse will work. Only the most traditional of mages believe in wandering the continent before settling into their post, refusing to mix their magic with any other dwelling until so named. 

It isn’t a popular decision, and were she truly doing it, her uncle would have been bragging about it- though she could claim it was intended to be a surprise to honor him or some such tosh. 

A portal appears, Stregobor walking out with a giant smile, “Fringilla! All grown up and lovely as your mother, come here.”

Fringilla locks a smile on her face, doesn’t allow herself to cringe as he hugs her tightly and longer than is proper. “It’s been too long, don’t tell me you’ve been in Blaviken all this time?” 

Stregobor laughs, breaking the hug but keeping his meaty hands on her shoulders. “Soon that will change, I see you brought me a present.” 

Fringilla smirks, “The fool girl sought to hire me. I thought you might want her.” 

Greed takes over his features, “Oh yes, yes I do.” 

He steps closer, taking the chain from Fringilla, pulling Renfri close and ripping the hood off. Renfri strikes as he pulls her in, her knife stabbing through his throat. 

Choking on his blood, he can’t voice a single spell to save himself, the ugly gurgles deafening. His body falls, the head a moment later, detached to ensure he truly is dead. And then his body explodes, bone shards flying, and Fringilla has just enough time to think, ‘of course, he cursed his own body to become a weapon in death’, before all fades to black. 

.

Fringilla wakes up in a bed, a bandage over her abdomen where a femur stuck through. Looking down, her memory is a mess of chiaroscuro, of the bone in stark light and her body in shade. 

“She awakens,” Renfri says playfully, sitting on her bed. “How do you feel?” 

“Good,” Fringilla answers, sitting up, ache seeping into each of her bones at the movement. 

Renfri raises an eyebrow, and she amends, “Alive. Grateful.” 

Despair hits next, wraps around her throat. Her entire life she’s had a plan to follow, and she just demolished it in one fell swoop. Not that she regrets any of it- Stregobor deserved nothing short of death. But she can’t present herself to Nilfgaard now, can’t return to the Brotherhood. (Even if she is relatively bloodless, the suspicion will always hang about her.)

“And you?” Fringilla asks. 

“ _Very_ grateful,” Renfri says, leaning in slow to brush a kiss across her lips. 

Fringilla shouldn’t be surprised, but she is- pleasurable sparks trailing down to her stomach and multiplying. She cups a hand behind Renfri’s neck, holding her close as she kisses her. She wants to know all of Renfri, to be familiar in an unforgettable way. 

They kiss until the need for air is too strong, with flushed cheeks, and wide grins. 

“What next?” Renfri asks. 

Fringilla laughs, feels boundless. “I just broke a central tenant to the Brotherhood.” 

“A renegade,” Renfri says, running a thumb over her cheek. 

“Indeed. What’s next for you princess?” 

Renfri looks positively giddy. “I don’t know. My whole life was running and revenge, I’m not sure what to do now.”

“We could run away together,” Fringilla says, heartbeat tripling. 

Renfri smiles, “Leave the continent behind.” 

“I like it.” 

“In the morning then,” Renfri says, sealing the promise with a kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] this makes me durable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334828) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




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